Caving
by galaxyostars
Summary: A trip down into a mine takes a turn for the worst when half of it collapses on Kanan and Ezra. [Blood/injury warning]
1. Chapter 1

When they'd entered this mine with their lightsabers and blasters, Ezra had made sure he and Kanan were well equipped with supplies packed into a backpack. It was just in case, because he "had a feeling"—a phrase Hera just shrugged at, allowing them to go on their way down. The master and padawan had hardly expected what Hera had mentioned to be "random seismic activity" to bring the mine down onto their heads.

He vaguely remembered being thrown away from his master before the torchlight could no longer cut through falling rocks and wet dirt. It had felt like he was going to be buried alive.

They'd been ten feet from a solid structure, too.

He came-to with a harsh ringing in his ear and a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Ezra gasped, choking on the taste of rock. His gag reflex kicked in as he turned his head and tried desperately not to throw up, but to cough out whatever dirt was in his mouth. He couldn't get a full breath of air in—he was well pinned underneath what he could only describe as a large chunk of solid earth that had once belonged to the lining walls of the mine, and it was now crushing the lower part of his torso. He was lucky he was breathing at all.

"... Kan-... Kanan!?"

He had to push down a bubbling panic when he didn't get a response. He needed to get out, to breathe properly, and to check the extent of his injuries. It felt like he could move his toes, so that was good, right?

_Calm._

He could do that. He wasn't in immediate danger. He slowed his breathing, focusing and recognizing his connection to everything around him, feeling what he could manipulate to ease the pressure on the bottom of his lungs. Quite the feat when it felt like he could only get half-breaths in.

Upon his first attempt to lift the rock, the rush of pain from his ribs to his knees almost had him dropping it back onto himself, and there was no telling how bad that could have been.

_Up. Away._

He was free. Thank the Force.

"_Kanan!_"

Despite the pain in his ribcage, he hauled himself upwards, cradling himself as his eyes searched desperately. He felt the wet rocks radiate from caverns walls and wheezed against the cold and dusty air. His lungs felt unnaturally heavy and coated. It was pitch black in here.

Ezra closed his eyes, hand outstretched as he called to his lightsaber. A rattling noise from underneath the rubble to his right could be heard before it shook itself free from its own captivity. To his relief, the weapon was now safely back in his hand.

Ezra ignited the green blade, wincing against the new light, now acutely aware just how blurry his vision was. "Kanan, can you hear me?!"

Looking upwards at what had once been the ceiling of the mine, Ezra realised exactly how lucky they had been. Only sections of the chain mesh that held it together had ruptured, allowing the rock through and almost crushing him instantly. The rest of it had remained relatively intact, but another quake would change that in an instant.

A cough (separate to his own) drew his attention to what had once been a wall of the mine. Ezra shone the lightsaber ahead of him, the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach again returning as he cautiously stepped forward, watching where he put his feet.

"Kanan?"

Another cough. There was no way that _wasn't_ Kanan. Ezra slipped on an incline of rocks in a desperate race to his master's position, catching himself before his whole body hit the ground again.

"Kanan, where are you!?"

That was a dumb question, he thought bitterly. Even if Kanan had been conscious enough to answer that, there was no way the Jedi could provide an accurate description where he was or what he was pinned under—he was blind. He could describe how large it was, maybe, but not where it was regarding Ezra's current location.

He waved his lightsaber over to the left, seeing a large chunk on an angle. That was the origin of his sick feeling—suggesting that maybe, it wasn't his own to begin with. Cautiously, watching his every step and making sure he was as calm as possible, he crept to the edge of the chunk of rock.

Underneath, illuminated in a green hue from Ezra's lightsaber, was his master.

There was a fair amount of room for someone Ezra's size to squeeze in between Kanan and the rock. The chunk was resting on an incline and Kanan was lying awkwardly on uneven rubble in the remaining space, unconscious—but that wasn't the young man's concern. One of the sturdy metal pins that had helped hold the mesh and hard chunks of rock in their positions overhead had pierced through Kanan's left side.

Panic bubbled in Ezra's chest as he crouched down, hand outstretched. As much as he didn't want to submit Kanan to the pain he'd inevitably feel (what with being impaled on a long pin), he needed his master, needed him awake for guidance. To know the extent of the damage done to him. He could feel Kanan on the edge of consciousness, could pull him back to a waking state. Despite his worry, despite his panic, his connection to the Force was strong, and so was his connection to Kanan.

There was a moment of nothing while he tugged on Kanan's psyche, the process unbearably slow. His master's body shuddered, before finally he spluttered and coughed, chest heaving as his blind eyes helplessly slipped open. Ezra almost fell forward in relief. "You're okay."

As if only just now feeling the condition he was in, Kanan hunched forward slightly, trying (and failing) to suppress a groan of pain through his teeth. His eyes and nose scrunched and releasing a tense breath. "I don't feel okay." The Jedi's head leaned back against the rock, breathing quickly at first, trying to find a pace that would bring the least amount of pain.

Ezra swallowed, taking as many of his own deep breaths as he could muster. "Hera mentioned earthquakes. Before she dropped us off."

The Knight's hands stretched forward, meeting the fallen rock's smooth surface until he tapped against the pin and followed it to its newfound position in his body. "That didn't feel like any quake I've ever been through," He huffed, shaking his head. A single hand left the pin to explore the empty space beside him, reaching to find nothing but air. "Are you injured?"

"It hurts too much to breathe, but I think I'm okay." He didn't notice how badly he was shaking until Kanan had asked. "I'm sorry, I just- I don't know how-"

"It's okay. Let's work a way out of this. How big is this thing on top of me?"

"You can't tell?"

Kanan head tilted, maybe in concentration. "It's a little hard to concentrate right now. I need your eyes."

"Uh..." He rubbed at his eyes, trying to focus them in the green lighting. "It's big. I doubt I could lift it myself."

Kanan nodded. "Alright—we need to get me out from under here." With his right hand still carefully resting around the pin, his left felt for his lightsaber, thankfully still attached to his belt. They didn't expect any reason for them to use it, so it remained firmly at his side. Small mercies.

There was a quiet hiss from the Jedi, likely having shifted too much around the pin when angling his lightsaber away from anything the blade would impact. His other hand went to the hilt of the blade, adjusting the length—it was now less than a foot long, surprising given that Ezra hadn't thought it capable of being so short.

"I need you to make sure this rock doesn't break into pieces on top of me."

Ezra nodded, as if Kanan could tell. "W-what are you going to do?"

"I'm not keen on pulling this thing out of me just yet, and I don't plan on staying here. I need you to keep the rock steady so I can cut through this thing."

"You think it'll break?"

"Just in case," He took shallow breaths, one of his hands again clasped around the pin. Ever so slowly he brought the lightsaber to the metal, Ezra doing his best to ignore the shaking in his master's hand. "Ready?"

"Uh..." No he wasn't. He had no idea if he could hold this thing in a worst-case scenario—he could barely move the rock off of him earlier, let alone this thing. But he didn't say any of that to Kanan. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm ready."

Not that it mattered. With a surprisingly steady hand, the Jedi put the pin into contact with the blade of his lightsaber, the pin melting down as he pushed through it at a snail's pace. He emitted a whimper during the last few millimetres, pin that was currently embedded who knows how deep inside his torso inevitably angling into a new direction.

Finally, he was free. The blue lightsaber was switched off as Kanan got a good grip of his bearings. He'd cut the pin only a few inches above where it disappeared into his body. The rock above him hadn't budged. To be honest, Ezra didn't know if he'd have been capable of holding it in place if it _had_.

"You have to get out of there."

Kanan nodded. "Yeah. Just... working out how I'm gonna do that."

"Can you move your legs?"

The response he got was a huff as the older man tested one of his feet, clipping his lightsaber back to his belt and bracing his arms against the rock he was, for the moment, rested upon. "My legs are fine. You're still going to have to help me—give me a hand?"

Ezra grasped Kanan's hand without a second thought, bracing himself for some of the man's weight. "Ready?"

"Yeah."

"On three?"

"Don't bother," He said, using Ezra's hand as leverage to pull himself back on. The Jedi shifted himself to the side, teeth grit and breathing hard but quick. "Definitely not like ripping off a soaked bandage."

Not exactly an image Ezra really needed but he didn't falter when Kanan moved again, this time pushing back towards his padawan a little further. He gave a proper cry of pain this time, but with help, he made it a good two feet out from where he was.

"You're almost clear," Ezra coughed.

This time, with a good grasp of Kanan's arm, Ezra dragged his master the rest of the way out from under the rock, cringing against the sounds coming from the older Jedi. Finally, Kanan was (relatively) free from danger.

Ezra was waiting for anything wrong to hit them—maybe an after-shock, or an explosion on the surface shaking more rocks from their precarious positions to crush them where they momentarily rested. But they were safe.

Or as safe as Kanan's heavy eyelids indicated they were.

"Hey, no," The padawan put an arm around his master, leaning him upwards. "You stay awake. I need you awake—you said we'd get out of this!"

Kanan's eyes scrunched. "M'awake. I just need a minute. Or an eternity. Your choice."

Ezra sighed in relief. "I think we can hang around for a minute."

He hummed in agreement. "You remember the bunker?"

"Yeah."

"That's our next move. Safer in there, probably has communication equipment, maybe even an exit if we're lucky," Kanan heaved himself upwards, wrapping an arm over Ezra's shoulders. Together they moved upright, the sharp intake of breath denoting Kanan's pain. His eyes remained closed. "Can you see the entrance?"

The green wasn't doing a lot to light the way, mainly just the green hues around shadows cast up against the walls of mesh and rock. Ezra coughed again, an ache in his lungs as he straightened properly with Kanan hooked up against him. When he shifted the lightsaber up a bit, he could see what might have been a door.

"Two o'clock. You think that's it?"

The knight's head tilted in concentration, a hand raised in that direction. "Better than staying here."

"Okay," Ezra huffed. "Can you walk?"

Kanan cracked a wry smile. "I'm standing, aren't I?"

"Just keep your arm around me."


	2. Chapter 2

On their first step forward Kanan almost collapsed, his teeth grit as a hand flew to his side. The second step wasn't so bad.

The third was just as bad. Every time the man put weight on his left leg, the pin would shift, scraping against the muscles inside his body—and every step closer to the door of the bunker, Ezra felt a pang of nausea. He found himself reciting an old Lothal nursery rhyme so to keep his pace steady for Kanan.

They stood hunched at the door, Ezra fighting every urge to throw up. Kanan was hanging off him almost like dead weight. If he hadn't needed his lightsaber to see so much, he'd have been supporting him fully. Damn that torch for disappearing under the rubble.

He concentrated, focusing on the door—seeing and feeling it open in his mind, desiring access and safety behind it. Ever so slowly did it slide open, bathing them in shreds of light.

The bunker (less of a "bunker" and more of an underground office for miners to check into, apparently) was thankfully well supplied, with benches lining the corners. Four walls and a desk with two chairs. There was another open door—probably the exit Kanan had been hoping for, but it seemed more like it led to a large drop to nowhere. He'd made a note to steer Kanan clear of it.

Water leaked from an old and rusting pipe, but it wasn't cold in here—no more than it was out in the broken vein. They were lucky. This place looked like a solid steel box and aside from the pipes and terrible decor, it was in great condition and somehow had power. He couldn't help but feel that it was still a funny place for an office.

Unfortunately Ezra could only get it halfway before a coughing fit had him almost hacking up his lungs.

He set Kanan down onto a bench, leaning him against the corner wall and putting his legs up while he dragged in a heavy breath. Now that everything was properly illuminated, it was easier to tell that they were both caked in cold dirt from head to toe. Kanan's pullover was a good example of how much blood he was losing—the lower section of his torso nicely soaking up anything that escaped the pin, but not so much that it was sopping. Kanan had been right; pulling the pin out wouldn't have ended particularly well for him.

Kanan's hands sought out the top of what remained of the pin, now pulling his shirt over it.

Ezra would have preferred _not_ to have seen exactly where the piece of metal had pierced his skin. Panic boiled again, his breathing kicking up a notch and sparking a chesty fit into his elbow, leaving him pressed for air afterwards.

"Ezra? You okay?"

His lungs felt constricted, like there was something festering at the bottom of each one, his chest heaving and his throat sore. "Yeah... yeah, ten times better than you I guess."

"Doubtful," Kanan sighed, pushing up the sleeves of his pullover and wiping his eyes on the small areas of his pullover that was relatively free from dirt. "Worst part of all this is the mud. It sounds like you might have gotten a good lungful. My eyes feel like they're rolling in it."

"Aren't you blind?"

"Eyeballs are still in my skull, genius." He was squinting again, having failed to get the dirt out of his eyes. "Is there water we can spare in here?"

"Hold on, I'll check."

The backpack he'd had the foresight to bring had not come off of his shoulders during the ordeal. Ezra took it off, placing it on the ground next to Kanan and glanced around the room. They had water themselves, spare in case they spent longer than expected in the mine. They'd been there to scope out the place as a potential supply drop—it was a recently abandoned mine, no signs of any Empire activity, no hostile creatures that they knew about, and nothing left behind by its original owner.

Now he knew why it was abandoned. The entire place must have been a death trap.

The workers had left some 20 litre water containers behind in an office cupboard—one cracked and leaking, though the other in good condition. There was some other equipment (operation books, reflective orange paint, a dusty communications unit) but he focused on the water first. He dragged the container that remained intact, cracking open the top. It was clean water.

Ezra dragged the container back towards Kanan before opening their pack and pulling out their water canisters. He gave a newly filled lid to Kanan. "Here," He tapped it against Kanan's hand.

Muttering a 'thanks', Kanan dribbled the cup of water into his eyes one by one, stopping after each and blinking through it, giving a relieved huff when they cleared. He handed the cup back to Ezra to be refilled, sitting up a little straighter, nose scrunched and a sharp intake of breath being the only indication of his pain. It took his padawan everything to not throw up.

"Cup refilled?"

Ezra tapped it against Kanan's hand again, allowing his master to take it. Little by little, Kanan poured small amounts around his wound.

"What are you doing?"

The red around the pin was being washed away, or at least as much as one could wash away blood and dirt without touching the skin. "I'd rather not have dirt seeping into me."

He wasn't sure if Kanan was just trying to keep all his emotions as blank as possible and not show any indication or pain, but Ezra couldn't stand watching. And before he knew it, he was back in another coughing fit—angling away from Kanan and coughing dirt chunks into his elbow. By the time it was over, he was struggling for breath.

"Ezra, I don't think you're okay."

_I don't think I'm okay, either_, he thought bitterly, the bottom of his rib cage aching again.

But Kanan wasn't done. "Come here. And pull up a chair."

It took a few moments before he could regain his breath, but he did as Kanan asked, dragging a chair from in front of the desk up and placing it next to Kanan's very uncomfortable bench, plopping down on it. Before he could stop him, Kanan had placed a hand on his chest, head once again tilted in concentration.

"You got a _good_ lungful." It wasn't a question, more like a statement.

Given that he'd almost been crushed under a large chunk of earth, there was no way he could avoid breathing all kinds of nasty dirt particles that made up "air" at the time. He sighed. "Couldn't exactly be helped. How long till I cough out a lung?"

"That's not a thing."

"You know what I mean."

The Jedi cracked a smile. "I'm more worried about it _staying_ there. I'd say you have to ride it out, but... last thing we need is for you to keel over and crack a forth rib."

"Is that what's causing the nausea?"

Kanan tilted his head at the question, expression concerned again. "What do you mean?"

"I feel ill," Ezra said. "Last ten minutes I've felt like I'm gonna throw up."

Kanan frowned. Instead of responding to Ezra's question, he pulled his com from his belt—seriously, did nothing fall off that thing?—and clicked it on. "Spectre one to Ghost."

They went a couple of seconds in a hopeful silence, only to be greeted by more silence.

Ezra couldn't stop his panic this time, launching out of his chair to pace the room, a shaking hand rubbing his sore abdomen. He was vaguely aware of the rattling feeling in his chest as he spoke. "They can't hear us?"

"We would have had problems with coms even _if_ the mine-shaft hadn't collapsed," Kanan tried to reassure him. "They've probably detected the explosion and are working on getting us out."

It was almost like Kanan could see he wasn't coping well with this, the Jedi's head aimed in Ezra's general location, but eyes shifting what would have been a line of sight as if searching for him. "Ezra, talk to me."

"_Talk?_" He gave Kanan an incredulous look, chest heaving. "Kanan, you've been _impaled_! We are _trapped down here_, and I've got no way of safely moving you! I can't even _treat_ you—how am I supposed to get us both out of here? For all we know, they think we're dead down here and have taken off back to Chopper base!"

His master, however, seemed as collected as ever. "They wouldn't do that. Hera move this entire planet if it meant finding us."

"I can't do this. I can't _bre-_"

The padawan felt a push against his psyche, a comforting, warm presence at the edge, waiting for him to allow its support—and he couldn't resist.

He knew exactly what Kanan was doing. As much as his conscious self would hate to admit it, he needed the support. It settled on his heart—or at least, it felt like it did, the thumping in his chest evening out to something more manageable.

By the time the wondrous presence had finished with helping his breathing, he realised just how much energy he'd lost during this entire ordeal.

"How bad is it?"

Getting back that juvenile confidence had been harder than he'd expected. Ezra shrugged. "I woke up with dirt in my mouth, if that's any indication."

Kanan rested his head back against the corner wall, regaining his own energy. "Take a seat. We have to deal with this now."

He did as he was told, coughing into his elbow as he silently prayed for the dust in his chest to settle down. Kanan's hand rested on his shoulder, weighing on him. Or, rather, pushing him downwards.

"This won't be pleasant," The knight said sincerely.

Ezra glanced up at him, trying to find _some_ kind of light in the situation. "'No pain no gain', right?"

It didn't seem like Kanan really approved of the words, but he made no comment, falling into silence. He triggered another attack from within his lungs, forcing dirt up his throat as he tried desperately to suck in oxygen throughout the coughing fit, the scratching feeling in his chest getting significantly worse. He tried, truly tried to regain some semblance of control, but he succeeded only in crumbling to the floor on his hands and knees, Kanan calling after him. It was all white noise at that point.

His head ached, but the floor was cool and comforting. There was something smoothing what felt like cracks in his lungs, leaving a heavy lethargy behind. He felt dishevelled, his dignity well lost when he spat out small clumps of dirt from his mouth that left a horrific earthy and metallic aftertaste, but he made no move to get up from the ground.

"Ezra?"

Ezra was still catching his breath. Every muscle in his body begged him to stay still, to remain there until help arrived—but he knew better. Using whatever energy he had left, he pulled his arms back towards him, elbows tucked in to support his upper body and push up to see Kanan. The knight was still in his position, but his eyes were closed, hands returned to stabilize the pin still well within his body.

Ezra looked back down. "'M sorry," He mumbled quietly.

"You're okay. A big part of remaining calm is breathing—and when you can't do that, remaining calm is harder."

His lungs _did_ feel clearer, but the nausea was back in full. "Why do I feel like I'm going to be sick?"

"That's not you. It's me."

"_You?_"

Kanan still hadn't moved even an inch from his position, completely still. "There is a dirty, jagged pole I can't remove from my body that is scraping- ah," He hissed. "Scraping against my insides."

Just hearing Kanan describe it had been unpleasant. Injuries from blasters or lightsabers was one thing—it'd never resulted in serious bleed-outs, just the smell of burnt flesh, which he'd unfortunately gotten used to no thanks to the Empire and the Inquisitors, but this was an entirely different ball game. They had to get Kanan back to the Ghost immediately. No more stalling.

He pulled his knees back into order, the shaking subsiding somewhat and he still struggled to get upright. "There's an old com unit in here. If I can patch your signal through it, maybe I can draw enough attention to the facility for Hera to know we're here."

"It's worth a try."


	3. Chapter 3

"Okay," Ezra breathed easy and clear for the first time since the mine collapsed. "Pass me your com?"

With a scrunch of his nose as if moving in general was now causing all sorts of pain, Kanan handed over the small com, his eyes remaining closed as he did so—and it not a good sign.

The younger man zipped around the room looking for the relevant materials. They'd gotten lucky again. He could slice this cord already attached to the transmitter to fit the small com's innards.

He flicked on the transmitter, allowing a moment of relief to relax his shoulders, keeping his breathing shallow as he set to work. "So, when you said that it's _you_ giving me nausea, what'd you mean?"

"I'm not _giving_ it to you." Kanan corrected. "You're just... feeling it."

"How?"

Kanan sighed, wiping his mouth with his forearm again, avoiding getting blood on any part of his face. "It happens occasionally. Masters and padawans form a kind of bond."

Ezra rose an eyebrow, fingers stripping out cables to reconnect to the smaller com unit. "A bond?"

"I don't know the details, Ezra. It wasn't part of my training, and my master and I just... there wasn't enough time."

"Is there a way to... I don't know, cut it? Sever it somehow?"

His eyes still closed, the older man frowned in Ezra's direction. "Tell me that's just curiosity?"

"Hey, if you hadn't stepped in with whatever that was a couple minutes ago, I'd be having a full-on panic attack right now. So yes. I just wanna know if this thing has an on and off switch," He huffed, then muttering. "Just in case it gets awkward."

"Like I said; it wasn't part of my training. We'll just have to ride it out and learn for ourselves."

"Then how do you know about it?"

"It was a rumour that went around the temple."

That was an incredibly vague answer, Ezra mused.

He connected the communication units together, activating the older one with the hopes that it'd boost the signal. "Spectre six to Ghost, come in."

This attempt did not bring silence, but static—which was good. Static was something Ezra could work with. He fiddled with the settings of the older, larger com unit before finally being able to make out some words from Hera.

"_-ix, do you read me?_"

"We read you, Hera!" Ezra sighed in relief. "Kanan's injured."

"_How bad?_"

Ezra looked back to his master, who was doing a pretty good impression of a corpse right now. "Bad. The mine fell on top of us. He needs to get back to the Ghost."

"_Alright. Stay on this frequency—we're working on getting you out of there._"

"Copy that," Ezra muttered.

He returned to Kanan's side. The knight's chest was still rising and falling, but his eyes were closed, head laid back against the wall, hands now far away from the pin.

"Can I do anything?" Ezra asked.

Kanan shook his head, the movement jerky and less than graceful. "We take this thing out of me without something to stop the bleeding, I'm as good as dead before Hera can get to us. It hurts like hell, but unless you have some healing capabilities you haven't told me about, it's the only thing stopping me from quickly bleeding out." He huffed a laugh. "You could say it's both killing me _and_ saving my life. Go figure."

"That's not funny, Kanan."

"I know," He sighed. He chose to then change the subject. "I don't think it was an earthquake that got us into this mess. I've felt quakes and explosions in a mine before—this... this seemed more like an explosion."

The padawan blinked a few times. "Wait, you think something _exploded_ down here? Like _what_ "

"An _explosive_."

Ezra had walked right into that one. "But this place is abandoned! Why would they have left anything like that here?"

"Probably their last hurrah to the Empire. Who knows what the working conditions were in here—it was insane when I did shipment runs for Gorse."

Ezra didn't get a chance to respond with his question as to what exactly 'Gorse' was before Hera's voice interrupted. "_Spectre six, are you there?_"

The teen raced back to the communications unit. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm here."

"_Getting through the rubble is a no-go. We're going to look for another way to you. Hang tight. Keep an eye on Kanan._"

"Will do. Just..." He spared another look at the paling man on the bench in the corner. "Hurry. Please hurry."

The com clicked off again. Ezra moved to take a seat on the ground next to Kanan once more, rubbing his arms against the cool air—which, of course, he'd conveniently forgotten about the cold when they came in.

Kanan looked worse for wear, the lower half of his torso exposed and showing the blood still seeping from the wound. It wasn't as bad as what Ezra thought it would have looked like, the padawan genuinely surprised at how much blood the Jedi _wasn't_ so obviously losing. But given the older man could hardly keep his eyes open at this point, it was all just a cruel illusion.

"We have to talk about what happens if I give up the ghost here," Kanan breathed, eyes open and blinking, but not actively staring in one direction.

"You're not gonna die."

The Jedi sighed. "Worst case scenario, Ezra."

"Fine. Worst case scenario. You lose consciousness, Hera doesn't get to us in time, you-" Ezra huffed, trying to keep some semblance of calm. "I lose you. You want to talk about what happens? I jump down that elevator shaft and will never crawl back out. _That's_ what happens. And it won't happen, because you're not gonna die, Hera will find us, and everything is going to be fine."

It was unrealistic—selfish, even, that he'd consider throwing himself off the edge of an abyss. But the way they'd spoken of other Jedi... if he lost Kanan, he could very well be the last one. He wasn't sure how Kanan had coped, barely believing that there might have been someone else, _anyone else_ fighting the same fight each day but were simply too dangerous to reach out to before he'd found Ezra. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like Kanan had simply resigned himself to being forced to hide his true nature and be the last. Ezra didn't see himself being capable of carrying that same burden.

"Ezra, I'm not asking you to expect to lose us. I'm asking you to be _prepared_ for that, if it happens," Kanan clarified. "Jumping down the shaft—that's not how we taught you to do things. Don't just give up this life. Becoming attached to Hera and me, or Sabine, or Zeb, or Force forbid, _Chopper—you _have to be prepared to lose us. You _must_ be ready for change, ready to mourn. And ready to move on."

"I shouldn't have to be."

Kanan gave a brief, sympathetic smile. "They're not easy lessons. And I hope I've taught you enough to get through what's coming. But you have to learn to let _go_. Trust in yourself."

The student scoffed. "I don't even understand what that _means_."

"You will. One day."


	4. Chapter 4

If he'd been asked to guess, he'd have said they'd been down here, in this mining office, for nearly an hour now. Not long, really, but every minute became more vital to Kanan's health. Ezra's mentor was looking ghost-like, his breathing shallow, colour gone from his cheeks and skin clammy to touch. He wasn't unconscious yet—just meditating or trying to get some sleep before they took the inevitable climb back up the shaft.

The elevator shaft in question was Hera's chosen method of rescue. She'd found its entrance and blown it open for easy access. Zeb's loud voice carried down the make-shift office Kanan and Ezra had found themselves holed up in, asking for a short check-in.

Sabine had been on the com frequently, giving suggestions for make-shift treatment of Kanan's wound. One had been wrapping him up in whatever dry blankets or clothing they could find to stave off shock—but without being able to see it and only working on Ezra's descriptions, she and Hera had been grasping at straws.

The best he could do was keep pressure on the wound around the pin and guess just how badly Kanan was bleeding internally, the colour of his abdomen a bruised purple now. Had they been on the surface, this may not have been so serious. But now, being underground for a fair amount of time, it was taking a toll.

Ezra pulled back the hand he'd placed on his master's forehead. "You're freezing."

"Yeah," Kanan huffed. "Tell me something I _don't_ know."

"That you'll definitely make it out of here alive?"

The blind man gave a small huff—which unfortunately gave way to a coughing fit and a pained groan. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

And there was the problem. Before, they'd discussed—or, rather, _Kanan_ discussed while Ezra begrudgingly listened—being emotionally prepared for the worst. Now he was staring the very real prospect of Kanan actually _not_ making it out of here in the face. "Kanan-"

"Ezra," He interrupted. "I'm sorry—I just... I can't take both our loads any more. Use your legs, stand up, you'll be okay."

Kanan in serious danger of dying was not just taking its toll on himself, Ezra finally realised, but was now weighing heavily on the usually steadfast Kanan Jarrus. While Ezra had panicked and look to Kanan for help, his master had simply been required to... 'manage'. Part of him wanted to think Kanan was using the Force to stay calm and collected, but he knew it simply wasn't true.

"_Ezra, you still there?_"

He put Kanan's hands back to the cloth over his wound; the Jedi took Ezra's place in keeping pressure against the pin as the padawan strode up to the com unit. "Sabine, tell me you have good news."

She didn't fail him. "_Zeb's on his way down. How's Kanan doing?_"

"Not good. He needs help, and we can't do anything more down here."

Ezra moved away from the com unit, still listening for a response as he stuck his head out through the open lift doors. There, being carefully lowered as he stood atop a stretcher, was his lasat roommate peering back down at him.

Even with Kanan quietly wheezing in the corner of the office/bunker/whatever, pulling Zeb to the safety of the office floor gave Ezra a renewed sense of hope.

Up on entering, Zeb glanced at Kanan. "Oh karabast," he muttered, moving towards his friend to get a better look and assess just how difficult it would be getting him back to the surface.

Kanan, however, was even less aware than he'd been beforehand. "That you, Zeb?"

That he'd even had to ask started alarm bells within Ezra's psyche, but the lasat kept himself together well. "Came to get you out of here. Think you'll be alright if I move you?"

"Staying here isn't doing wonders for me, anyway," Kanan gave a weak tilt of his head, a corner of his lips peaking upwards to give some false semblance of reassurance.


	5. Chapter 5

Noise was no longer overwhelming when he woke. During the earlier days, he'd find himself almost deafened, automatically focusing only on sound. Though it had been exhausting during that time, he'd reached into the force, learned what each sound belonged to—he could practically feel the shape of each item in his quarters, the door panel, the crew sleeping in their bunks.

Then he'd venture outside and track as far as possible—what rocks or holes in the ground would trip him up? This was much harder, his unconscious fear of falling being the thing tripping him up the most. He'd had to re-train his instincts as he once again learned how to navigate from one end of the Ghost to the other. He'd like to say that, because he knew the ship upside-down and back to front, this was easy. It was not. It was harder for him to judge time nowadays, but he thought it'd taken him months.

So, when he finally awoke, air smelling sterile and the bed underneath him mildly uncomfortable with its scratchy blankets and lumpy pillow, it was instead the tell-tale sounds of a medical droid beeping furiously at someone that alerted him to his location.

Kanan felt better than he did when he was last awake. His eyes and nostrils felt clear, his chest didn't ache, pain in his stomach gone, and his legs no longer felt cold and boneless.

He'd had to concentrate a little harder, but he could identify Hera's voice. She was arguing with a droid over something—probably to do with his health, no doubt. Kanan took a deeper breath in. "Are you disobeying orders, Captain Hera?"

What followed was a sigh of relief from the twi'lek, her footsteps approaching the bed, and a warm hand taking his. Kanan smiled, putting on a deliberate show of opening his eyes (only a little) as his head tilted towards her. "You scared me, love," Hera said.

"It was a freak accident," he admitted. "Nothing else could have been done."

"I know. I'm just glad you're alright."

She took it upon herself to fill in the blanks he had—the last thing he remembered being the excruciating amount of pain he experienced as they removed him from the underground cavern. As soon as Ezra and Zeb were on board, they'd high-tailed it to the nearest medical facility, Ezra and Sabine keeping him breathing (she didn't, however, elaborate on what exactly this meant).

Kanan had been lucky.

"Is Ezra okay?" he asked once Hera had drawn the update to a close.

"The doctor had him on a respirator for a little while, but after that, I stuck his room on a stronger filtration cycle and Zeb says he's been sleeping off what happened." She explained. "He's coughing up a lot of gunk."

Damn. He hadn't been able to pull as much of the dirt from the kids' lungs as he'd hoped. "Has he said anything?"

"Not specifically," Her thumb started rubbing his hand. "Though he did _hug_ me once you were admitted into surgery."

"He got a... taste of the inevitable," Kanan sighed. "I wanna check in on everyone when I can."

"That's what I was arguing with the droid about. Visitation. But now that you're awake, I don't imagine I'll have any more trouble getting everyone in."

He waited a couple hours, soaking in as much rest as he could. Zeb dropped by, checking in—he'd taken this about as well as Hera had, the lasat sturdy and confident in Kanan's abilities to heal. He appreciated that Zeb was probably the least likely out of the crew to treat him like glass, but, Kanan was wise enough to recognise that he and Ezra's ordeal had taken its toll on him just as much as everyone else.

And then came Sabine. While Zeb and Hera (even Chopper, really) were well composed, Sabine's pent up anger and energy had resulted in her kicking a can on her way into the room. That was the only time she'd ever lost control, the young Mandalorian woman instead standing there and taking in the sight of Kanan.

He couldn't resist the urge to get up.

"What are you doing?"

Sabine's brown eyes were sharp as she approached the Jedi. While she was clearly not supportive of him leaving his bed, she held her hand out in assistance.

"I'm getting restless," he said, nose scrunching again when a twinge of pain struck through his side. He'd been in a couple of bacta bathes already, but their effectiveness had been somewhat debatable.

"The doctors don't want you out of bed-"

"I'll get back in it soon enough," he reassured her.

Now that he was sitting up straight and on his own, Sabine felt less tense. Less likely to cause property damage. He tilted his head a little, a small frown forming. "I'm okay, Sabine."

She nodded. "I know."

Sabine threw her arms around his shoulders anyway, face buried at the crook of his neck. He ignored the pain in his side again, reaching his arms around her to reciprocate the action.

Ezra was a little harder to coax back into the med centre—and even harder to find. By the time Kanan was back on his feet and walking around, Ezra had vacated his room he shared with Zeb on the Ghost and left the ship. He was somewhere on the station.

Kanan's feet carried him down long hallways, following Ezra's trail. Though he feared Ezra's psyche would be in chaos—it'd been a traumatic experience far from those he generally went through on a day-to-day basis—he was instead met with... peace. With acceptance.

By the time he located Ezra, Kanan realised that his padawan was deep in meditation in an observation lounge that no doubt had quite the view of the stars, cross-legged and hands folded neatly in his lap.

He didn't say a word as he entered the room, immediately taking a seat nearby to catch his breath. He didn't want to disturb Ezra. The moments that passed were comfortable, safe and unassuming. It left the master with an immense and proud feeling.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" Ezra asked, his eyes still closed.

"I wanted to check on you," Kanan said, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. "You seem well."

"Better than what we were, that's for sure."

"Could have been worse."

Ezra shook his head. "No. No, it definitely could not have been worse than that. I can't think of _anything_ worse than a mine coming down on our heads."

He laughed—and then hissed when his side twinged again, protesting the action.

Ezra's attention shifted away from his centre and directly onto Kanan. "We almost lost you."

Kanan gave a quiet sigh, leaning back a little into his chair. "Yes."

"I reacted badly to that."

He gave a shrug, though not to simply wave away Ezra's response to the situation. It would have to be an ongoing lesson. Death—loss—was not something he intended to dump directly into Ezra's lap and expect him to handle it.

"We live a dangerous life, two-fold," Kanan told him. "We will inevitably be faced with... difficult situations. We _have_ faced difficult situations, and all of them have had and will continue to have consequences. It is what we do in the aftermath that shapes us, Ezra."

There was a moment of silence as Ezra contemplated the words. "We have to be ready to let go."

"It's not an easy lesson," Kanan admitted. "But it is a necessary one."

"I think I get it."

Ezra moved up from his position on the floor to sit next to Kanan on the line of chairs. He sought comfort, only for a few moments, in Kanan's being upright and nearby. He leaned his head on the older man's shoulder.

"I'm glad you're okay, Kanan."

"Me, too."

It'd take a few days to recover, but he'd be back on his feet in no time.


End file.
